


In the Quiet We Love

by prettygirllostt



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Sherlock has a female best friend, Teenlock, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:56:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettygirllostt/pseuds/prettygirllostt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is based on a prompt my friend gave me and is written for her, http://enigmaticanomaly.tumblr.com/</p><p>The prompt was: Sherlock meets a mute girl and is interested in learning more about her. </p><p>While this was meant to be a short fic, it's now in three parts starting from when Sherlock first meets the girl and going to after Reichenbach. I hope you enjoy it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sondra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sondra/gifts), [enigmaticanomaly.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=enigmaticanomaly.tumblr.com).



> not beta'd all mistakes are my own.

Sherlock Holmes was 16 years old when he met Emily Dunn. She had transferred to his school days before and had been named his partner in Chemistry. No one told him of her problem assuming he would notice in seconds. He didn’t.  
Sherlock began by spouting out answers to questions so quickly that any other person would have been begging him to stop. She simply nodded at him and smiled while doing the work at her own pace. He plowed on without a thought, writing answers in messy shorthand that the professor would have to decipher later and launching out of his seat when the class was over barely sparing her a glance. She found him delightful.  
Emily Dunn was mute. She’d been mute since her mother had died and the shock had caused her to tumble down the stairs. She had grown used to her problem and had grown used to people speaking slowly and making wide gestures as if she couldn’t hear. It was terrible but there was no way to tell them to sod off without sign language and many people didn’t know the language so the sentiment was lost in translation. She was perpetually frustrated. When Emily met Sherlock, life changed.  
Both of them didn’t count their first week of class as the days they first met simply because neither was paying much attention. Emily was trying to catch up in the class and Sherlock was busy plowing through the lessons to prove he didn’t need to be there. They missed each other in the way that happens when life is moving at a different pace for each person and it wasn’t until Sherlock caught Emily being made fun of in the quad that they really saw each other for what they were.  
Sherlock always had a soft spot for misfits even though he couldn’t stand most of them for longer than five minutes. People that society didn’t like intrigued him and he was always one for a puzzle. He watched the girls poke at Emily, a girl he vaguely recognized but couldn’t place, and strode forward to put a stop to it.  
“I bet you’re just stupid,” one of them was saying. She had cold green eyes and Sherlock steeled, picking up his pace.  
“Oh yes, mute and dumb. I bet you had to bribe your way into this school,” another girl simpered. Sherlock was almost to them when the last girl spoke.  
“Maybe she shagged someone. We all know how well that works.”  
The girls laughed and only Emily saw Sherlock. Her eyes widened as he pushed his way into the group, blocking Emily from their view.  
“That is quite enough,” he said sternly.  
“Oh is it? Look, the freak protecting the freakess. How cute,” the girl with green eyes snapped.  
Sherlock was undaunted. He leaned closer to her until their noses nearly touched. “You slept with a man on the council to get your spot in this school. Pretending otherwise is pure idiocy. You will leave this girl alone or I will make a fuss. You know what happens when a Holmes makes a fuss. I’m sure you’ve met my brother.”  
He spoke almost pleasantly and the girl paled. Emily couldn’t help but smile. When the girls had stalked away, peering over their shoulders with contempt, Emily spun Sherlock around and began to sign in earnest.  
“Wait,” he said with a small frown,” Wait I can’t read that.”  
She slowed her hands and smiled. Bowed with her hand on her heart. He nodded. “You’re welcome I suppose. I just despise that kind of insipid hatred. You are probably not half as idiotic as they are.”  
Her lips widened and a throaty growl came from her. He raised his eyebrows and she covered her mouth.  
“It was an accident, wasn’t it? You used to be able to speak,” he said.  
She nodded slowly.  
“Hm.” He hummed and turned away. As quickly as he had been there he was gone and Emily was left to watch him retreat.

Their next chemistry class was a bit different from those the week before. Emily got there early and placed her book on sign language on the desk for Sherlock. She found she wanted to speak with him more than she wanted to speak to most people so maybe he would learn and she would have someone to talk to. He swept into the room moments later, his nose in a book. He only looked up when the papers he dropped on the desk slanted off the book and fell to the floor.  
“Oh,” he said, looking down at the book she’d given him.  
Her name was printed in careful script on the cover and he looked at her. “Emily,” he said.  
She signed her name. His lips twitched in what she assumed was a smile. She smiled back. He lifted the book he was reading so she could see the title.  
“Sign Language for the Late in Life” the cover read. The growling sound rolled from her throat and this time he smiled shyly in return. It was the start of something special.  
* * *  
Sherlock didn’t love like other people. He didn’t fall in love, he simply attaching himself to someone. When the boys in his year teased him about Emily, he shrugged it off. They teased him about everything he did so this change in his life wouldn’t change how he reacted. It had been a month and he was practically fluent in sign language. Emily, he found, was actually quite funny and clever and knew the best curses so when the boys made jokes and the girls whispered, they could tell each other exactly what they thought of them without anyone knowing. Sherlock loved Emily, but not in the way people believed.  
They were sitting in the common room when Emily mentioned it.  
“You’re not in love with me, are you?” she signed.  
He had been looking at his history book with an ill expression, but she knew he saw her. She waited.  
“No,” he said. He found it easier to answer most questions out loud and had learned to sign out of necessity to understand Emily. She understood him perfectly fine when he spoke.  
“You don’t love anyone like that,” she signed slowly.  
“No,” he said again.  
“Do you love me?” she signed. He looked at her. She wasn’t desperate. She wasn’t begging. She wasn’t expecting anything. He smiled. “Yes,” he said.  
She smiled back. “Good. I love you too,” she signed with her characteristic quickness.  
He patted her hand fondly and went back to staring at his history book as if hoping it would combust. Emily curled her legs under herself and leaned into his side. People passed by them and some whispered, but they weren’t disturbed. Emily and Sherlock might have been an odd couple, but they were solid in their belief in one another and that was enough for them.  
* * *  
It had been two years since Emily had met Sherlock and finally it was time for them to leave school and move on to uni. She fixed his tie while he frowned. “I hate ties,” he said.  
She shook her head and continued to make sure it was straight.  
“Why can’t I just wear a collared shirt without the tie? This is a graduation, not an inauguration,” he snapped.  
“Stop fidgeting,” she signed.  
“Oh Emily, Sherlock, you both look so lovely!” Violet Holmes beamed from the doorway, her camera clicking away.  
Emily had spent summers and holidays with the Holmes’ family at their estate for the past two years and she smiled at Violet Holmes with real warmth, signing,  
“Your son is making a mess of things.”  
Violet had learned sign language as soon as she’d heard her son had a mute friend. The fact that Sherlock had a friend at all was astonishing and Violet had determined that she needed to know everything about the girl to understand what had attracted Sherlock to her. From what she knew, Emily was a brilliant child with a streak of sarcastic humor Sherlock could appreciate. Violet was also close to positive that Emily loved Sherlock and Sherlock loved her in return, just not the way the girl wished. Violet found that to be sad, but as she watched Emily flatten Sherlock’s shirt and saw Sherlock grin while Emily laughed, she felt it melt away. They were wonderful children and they were happy, so who was she to find it sad?  
She snapped a picture as Sherlock ducked to kiss Emily’s rosy cheek, deciding that it wasn’t the memory of graduation that she wanted to keep; it was the memory of Sherlock’s smile.  
Violet was right of course, Emily did love Sherlock. She loved Sherlock with a single mindedness that would have bordered on obsession if she wasn’t so logical. She loved all three of the Holmes’s in their own way, but Sherlock was special. She watched him graduate and beamed up at him, her long chocolate brown hair tied in a red ribbon that pulled in the breeze. He gave her a twitch of his lips but it was his eyes she watched. They sparkled with humor and she signed to him, “only four more years to go.”  
He inclined his head slightly before disappearing into the crowd of other graduates.  
Sherlock knew Emily loved him. He knew how to read the signs. She never made a move toward him and he was grateful for that. He did adore her but he didn’t feel the crushing need to strip her clothes from her body so he concluded he wasn’t in love with her and would simply keep things the way they were. She was his closest and only friend and she mattered more than anyone else. When he watched her graduate he felt a swell of pride. She signed his name and a quick sign for love before sidling away into the group of girls who were shouting congratulations to one another. He smiled to himself. Four more years at uni and Emily would be with him even then. 

Later that night she kissed him. She called it her own experiment. It told her everything she needed to know. He hadn’t responded to her at first but even when he had begun to kiss her back, she realized he’d meant it when he said he didn’t love like that. She’d felt a spark in her chest but his kiss was lazy and mechanical. He didn’t want her and that was alright. She realized then that it was truly alright. She didn’t need him to want her, she needed him to love her and he did. When she pulled back, he was anxious and frowning, ignoring the room around him that echoed with cat calls and hoots. He wasn’t sure what her reaction would be. She liked doing things that Sherlock didn’t understand, it made her feel special.  
“It’s fine. I just wanted to see,” she signed.  
He still stared. He signed, “You still love me?” It was not a conversation he wanted to have with people listening.  
She smiled, pushing back her laughter. Only Sherlock found her laughter to be delightful, it made others nervous and she tried to repress it when she could. “Yes, of course. And if you think you’re getting rid of me that easily, you’re mistaken,” she signed.  
He leaned his forehead against hers and smiled. “It was a good day when I discovered you, Emily Dunn,” he said quietly. Sherlock always said his best things quietly so no one else could hear. They were meant only for her.  
To Emily, that was the best proclamation of love she’d ever received. She smiled in return and pushed him away. It was time to celebrate.


	2. 12 years later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets John and all of their lives change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not beta'd all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> this chapter kind of got out of hand because i wanted to cram so much into it. Sorry!

Sherlock was busy at work in Bart’s when he met John Watson. He was peering through a microscope when the man came in the door. He hadn’t expected to find a flat mate so quickly but he accepted it with the same grace he accepted everything. That is, with arrogance and smug rational. Mike introduced John and Sherlock spoke over him to deduce about his almost flat mate. John looked surprised by it all and as Sherlock swept out of the room, he watched in bewilderment planning to meet the odd detective but not knowing why. Sherlock felt a warmth in his chest that he hadn’t felt since he’d met Emily and in the hall he very nearly skipped from the adrenaline of it.

            Emily was planning to meet Sherlock at his flat and was pushing open the door when Sherlock came up behind her.

            “I’ve met someone who might move in upstairs. You never use that room, anyway,” he said, his breath fanning across her head. She smiled. Being near Sherlock was as heady as any drug.

            He ushered her in the door before allowing her to sign to him. “That’s because you like to sleep with someone beside you,” she signed with a laugh as he pushed her toward the stairs.

            “Only because it’s you,” he said easily.

            They’d had 14 years to iron out their relationship and had fallen into the easy life of people who were incredibly fond of one another and knew every vice. Everyone assumed they were together and they both agreed that they were, if not in the conventional sense. They didn’t have sex but that was the not so important part of a relationship to both of them. Emily had her own flat that she kept all of her things in but her most valued and favorite possessions resided with Sherlock in his flat that she mostly shared with him. He was constantly berating her for paying rent on a flat she didn’t spend much time in but she ignored him with ease. She liked to have her own space and she hit her canvases and paint brushes for work in there ever since Sherlock used them to test acid erosion over certain amounts of time.

            Every night they slid into bed together and every morning they woke next to one another but it never occurred to either of them to try and find more. They were content in their roles and nothing had upset them until John Watson.

            “So who is it?” she signed. He turned to straighten some papers and shrugged.

            “Some ex-army man. A doctor. Studied at Bart’s. Psychosomatic limp. We’ll have to work on that.”

            She laughed and he turned to face her. “Another pet project for the great Sherlock Holmes! Don’t be too hard on him, not everyone knows they’re broken, dear.”

            She touched his cheek with affection and he huffed. “He’s probably an idiot.”

            “Aren’t they all?” she signed. His head jerked slightly in agreement and then he drifted away, sinking into some experiment including eye balls and heat. She tapped him on the shoulder to sign quickly, “Don’t make a mess.”

            He let out a string of unintelligible words and she shook her head, winding the scarf his mother had given her for Christmas around her neck. She left the flat as something crashed to the floor. Closing the door with a resounding thunk, she smiled to herself. Sherlock was impossible, but he was hers and that was enough.

 

            Sherlock charged all over London for the rest of the afternoon. When he made his way back to 221B he saw John Watson was already there. They greeted one another and Sherlock smiled his fake smile, wondering if Emily was in the flat. He wanted to know what John thought of Emily. It was an odd thought but he didn’t give himself time to study it.  He knocked on the door so Mrs. Hudson would introduce herself and soon he found himself standing in the flat while John took it all in.

            “…once it’s cleaned up,” Sherlock caught the end of John’s sentence and faltered.

            “Oh Sherlock, the mess you’ve made,” Mrs. Hudson clucked from her spot in the doorway.

            Sherlock began to try and clean but it really consisted of him moving things from one spot to another while feeling crippling embarrassment.

            The front door slammed shut as Sherlock opened his mouth. Mrs. Hudson smiled fondly at Sherlock and ignored Emily clunking up the stairs. She’d never grown used to the girl and found it odd that Emily paid no rent to spend time in a flat she basically lived in.

            “There’s another bedroom upstairs if you’ll be needing two,” she said to John.

            Emily came up the stairs and signed, “of course they’ll be needing two.”

            At the same time, John said, “of course we’ll be needing two.”

            Sherlock smirked.

            “Emily, this is John Watson. He’ll be moving in I believe.”

            John held out his hand and Emily shook it. She smiled and signed something that John couldn’t catch and Sherlock laughed.

            From what he’d seen of Sherlock he’d assumed that Sherlock wouldn’t be the type of man to have a relationship but he looked at Emily with undeniable affection and John felt a spurt of jealously. All of his past relationships had ended messily and he’d never felt the kind of affection the two in front of him obviously felt for one another.

            “What about these murders, Sherlock. I thought that would be right up your alley,” Mrs. Hudson called from the kitchen. John dropped down into a chair.

            Emily signed once more and Sherlock turned to John. “She wants to know what you think of the place.”

            “I looked you up, you know,” John said instead of answering the question.

            Emily nodded with what seemed like approval and looked over at Sherlock who bounced on his toes.

            “What did you think?” Sherlock asked. Emily began to sign quickly but Sherlock snorted and ignored her. She smacked his arm. John couldn’t help but grin.

            “It was interesting,” John said. Emily made a throaty noise and Sherlock turned to her with a scowl. She signed and then gestured at John.

            “She wants me to tell you she agrees with you. Also that maybe you can convince me to stop talking about such dull topics. Dull topics? You told me it was fascinating!” Sherlock spoke to John and then turned to Emily with annoyance.

            She signed an answer and he sighed.

            “Three murders, Sherlock, what do you think?” Mrs. Hudson said, bustling back into the room with a duster.

            “Four,” Sherlock said, gazing out the window.

            “What?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

            “There’s been a fourth.”

            When Inspector Lestrade flew up into the flat only John was surprised. Emily watched him bound out the door as she dropped herself into a chair. She watched John with bemused interest until Sherlock stepped back into the flat. He looked at John with a single minded attention that Emily had grown used to being the center of. For the first time since he’d mentioned John Watson she felt fear creep into her chest. Sherlock looked down at John with what would look like disinterest to anyone else but Emily knew him. She waited.

            “Would you like to see some more?” he asked of the ex-army doctor.  She’d missed the first half of the conversation and tuned in only to the end.

            “God yes,” John said enthusiastically and Emily felt her heart sink.

            They ran out the door and Emily saw it as the beginning of her end.

*        *       *

 

            Sure enough, John became the person Sherlock revolved around. He still crawled into bed beside her and still smiled at her in the mornings but during the day he had eyes only for John Watson. They came home laughing and breathless, covered in dirt and muck and sometimes bleeding from odd scrapes and cuts. They worked odd hours and Emily found herself alone in the flat most of the time. They squabbled and laughed and for the first time Emily found herself wishing she had a voice when she was with Sherlock if only to speak over John Watson. She found it was getting harder to stay in 221B.

            She walked in one afternoon to hear John ask a question she also wondered about the answer to. She waited in the hall.

            “So what is Emily? You told me you don’t have a girlfriend but she seems rather girlfriendish. You sleep in the same bed,” John said.

            They were sitting at the living room table and Sherlock had his legs stretched out so they were on either side of John’s chair. He frowned.

            “Does everything need a label?” Sherlock asked.

            Emily rolled her eyes from the hall. It was a very Sherlock answer.

            “In this case, yes,” John said firmly. Emily gave him her respect grudgingly. He knew how to handle Sherlock.

            “Why?” Sherlock asked.

            “Because I’m curious and I have the feeling she is too,” John said.

            “Emily has never worried about what we are. There is no label for it,” Sherlock said stiffly.

            “Fine then. I’m asking. Tell me,” John said sounding exasperated.

            “Emily and I have known each other for nearly 15 years. There is no label for that,” Sherlock said. A frown played across his face and Emily could imagine the way he was about to fidget.

            “Ah,” John said and it sounded like he understood which was more than Emily could say for the conversation.

            “You love her,” John said smugly after a few seconds.

            Sherlock looked up and a slight smile twisted on his face. ‘Yes, but not like you think. Not like she wants.”

            “If you know she loves you, why do you encourage it?” John sounded amazed.

            “I don’t. We’ve talked about it. We’ve agreed. It’s fine,” Sherlock frowned.

            “Sherlock, no one in their right mind would be okay with that. Not if they love you like Emily seems to love you. You’re probably killing her,” John argued.

            Emily smiled. One thing to be said about John Watson; he was a very kind and fair man.

            “Nonsense. Emily is logical and smart. She knows,” Sherlock dismissed John with a wave of his hand and Emily entered the room. She didn’t think she could take more of the conversation without wanting to cry or possibly beat Sherlock over the head for being so dumb.

            John turned to smile at her and she smiled back, finding it surprisingly easy to smile at the man who was taking her place. Maybe it was because she didn’t think either of them noticed she was being replaced and really, John was a great man.

            “I think I’m going to stay at my flat tonight,” she signed, “you’ve been so busy I hardly see you.”

            Sherlock watched her hands and she half hoped he would argue but he didn’t. He simply nodded and went back to what he was doing. She sighed. There had been a time when he would have refused to let her leave and told her that she simply couldn’t have a life outside of him since she was indispensable. Watching him at the table she felt the now familiar pang of jealousy. His legs nearly cradled John’s and they had a calm around them that Emily knew didn’t come easily for Sherlock. He fell into it with certain people, his mother and her, but she’d never seen it so quickly with a somewhat stranger. For whatever reason, Sherlock had chosen John. She nodded to herself and turned to go.

            “Oh, and Emily,” Sherlock called out to her, “don’t be gone for too long. I’d be lost without you.”

            He didn’t see her smile, but he knew. She felt her heart lift from the floor at the words, knowing it was his way of saying he loved her. She had always taken whatever she could get from Sherlock and she wasn’t stopping now.

 

*     *       *

 

Sherlock didn’t know what it was about John that made him interesting. John followed him onto crime scenes, gave minimal help and still Sherlock found himself fond of the time they spent together. There hadn’t been anyone since Emily who caught his attention but somehow, John Watson, ex-army doctor and general good man managed to keep him interested. Wonders never ceased.

It was after they solved a case involving Baskerville that John mentioned Emily once more.

“You brought me on this trip,” John said.

“Well observed,” Sherlock said curtly.

“You brought me but you didn’t bring Emily. We shared a room. People assumed we were a couple. Why did you bring me but not Emily?” John asked.

“You’re a doctor. Emily is an artist. She wouldn’t have been much help except to deter Mycroft. They have a wonderful relationship. It’s disgusting,” Sherlock said his eyes on the road.

“You could have brought her and me,” John replied.

“Emily wouldn’t have enjoyed this. She worries,” Sherlock nearly spat.

“I worry,” John said, peering at Sherlock.

Sherlock inclined his head before saying, “What is it with you and Emily? Jealous?”

He was mocking but John felt something slash through his chest. He’d seen the way Emily looked at Sherlock and he’d seen how Emily looked at him when he looked at Sherlock. It was the most convoluted triangle he’d ever been in and he wasn’t even sure what was happening.

“You said I was your only friend. ‘I don’t have friends, I’ve only got one.’ Unless you meant Emily…if so that was a shit apology by the way.”

Sherlock snorted which John took to mean he was being an idiot which of course meant the apology was meant for him. “So what is Emily if not a friend?”

“What is it with your need to classify everything?” Sherlock sounded mystified.

“I’m concerned Sherlock,” John snapped.

“About what?” Sherlock asked.

“You! Emily! Me!” John nearly shouted. He didn’t mean to bring himself into the conversation but it seemed inevitable. He couldn’t ignore the fact that they were all circling around one another any more than he could pretend he didn’t feel something when Sherlock pinned him with that dazzling gaze. They were standing on a ledge and it felt is if they were all about to fall.

“Whatever do you have to do with me and Emily?” Sherlock sounded genuinely confused and John wanted to beat his head against the window of the car.

John shook his head and looked out the window. “Nothing,” he said.

Sherlock pulled over. “John.”

John lifted his eyebrows and licked his lips.

“What is this about?” Sherlock asked.

“Nothing, Sherlock. Let’s just go home.”

“John.”

John turned at the tone in Sherlock’s voice. “She is not my girlfriend but she is not just my friend. People have always assumed things about us and after a while it became easier to just live that life than it was to say it wasn’t true. We don’t do those things most couples do. I don’t do those things, it doesn’t make the fiction any less real.”

“You don’t correct people about me and we aren’t like you and Emily,” John said. He was appalled. He wouldn’t put it past Sherlock to allow the fiction of him and Emily to be somewhat upheld but to live the fiction was something else entirely. He didn’t understand why Emily hadn’t strangled him in his sleep for being so dumb.

“No point.” Sherlock said shortly.

“Why? You follow me on dates and ruin them, call me out of work for emergencies that might not always be emergencies and then let your girlfriend walk out of our flat clearly unhappy while you drag me to a small inn for a case. I’ve got to say, I’m confused Sherlock,” John said.

Sherlock stared furiously into the distance. He pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a quick text before turning to John. “Listen carefully because I’m not repeating this.”

John stared back, slightly terrified, while adrenaline pumped in his veins. Sherlock gulped and opened his mouth to speak. John closed his eyes and waited.

 

Emily received a text from Sherlock as she was painting a portrait. She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked it quickly. Her eyes widened.

_Stay at your flat tonight. I’m going to be with John.  Busy. SH_

The tears threatened to spill over. 14 years of life with Sherlock Holmes had led her to believe he’d never leave her. He’d never sleep with her; never kiss her like he loved her more than a friend, but he would never leave. She had been at the end of his blunt abuse and had taken it all in stride. She’d adored him at his brightest and took care of him at his worst and never in all of those years had she suspected an older ex-military man would take Sherlock from her. Her client murmured in displeasure at the lack of attention Emily was giving her and Emily dropped her phone into her pocket, signing to her interpreter who told the woman that Emily was sorry for the delay and continued on in her work determined to not think of Sherlock Holmes and the life she could be losing.

            When they returned home, Emily collected her most prized possessions and moved them into her flat. Sherlock didn’t tease her for the extra rent and for once she was relieved to be alone.

                                                                                                                   *             *             *

 

The following two months were lousy for Emily but brilliant for John. Sherlock’s speech in the car from Baskerville hadn’t been anything close to a declaration of undying love and devotion but it was enough to make John happy which in turn also made him feel guilty when he thought of pretty Emily and her own undying love and devotion. It was for that reason alone that John texted Emily on his day off and she agreed to meet with him for coffee and a conversation. The guilt had become too much to bear without acknowledging it and if there was one thing John had learned, it was that Sherlock wasn’t one for useless sentiment.

John had grown used to sign language and had picked it up more out of necessity than anything else. Sherlock signed when he didn’t want anyone to know what he was saying and it was rather annoying to hear only one side of a conversation when Emily did come around.

John dropped a kiss on the top of Sherlock’s head on his way out the door and the detective gave a noncommittal hum deep in his throat. John smiled as he walked out the door. They were far from an ideal couple (John wasn’t actually sure they were a couple) but it was a start.

Emily was early as usual. John was right on time.

“Punctual,” she signed with a small smile. She found it hard no to dislike John after everything. John could understand the feeling and didn’t begrudge her for it.

“Yes, well, military,” he said.

They ordered their coffee and sat in silence and stillness until finally Emily broke. “Why did you ask me to meet you here, John?” she signed.

He sighed. “I didn’t want you to…hate me for taking him from you. I didn’t even think I could. I don’t think I actually can.”

Her mouth twisted into a mix of a smile and a grimace. “I don’t hate you. No one can take Sherlock Holmes. He takes, he’s never the taken. He took you without you noticing. He’s good at it. He takes all of you without thought for the future and then when he finds something new, he takes that too. Sometimes he forgets the past things he’s taken while he plays with the new things and we just become…dusty objects on a shelf. It’s impossible to leave, of course and he just doesn’t realize he’s left us there.”

It seemed bitter and she quickly signed, “He’s not a bad man, he just never learned how to not…be…too much.”

John nodded. “I know. I know him too.”

They glared at each other until Emily looked down at her cup of coffee. Curling her hands around the cup she shrugged.

“He chose you. I never thought he’d want anyone like that but he still chose you,” she signed slowly in her sadness and John shook his head sharply.

“It isn’t like that. We aren’t like that. It’s just more…affection. That’s all,” John said.

For a moment it felt surreal. They looked at each other over cups of coffee and both realized that they loved Sherlock Holmes and that he might never love either of them the way they wanted. Emily felt with pure rightness that Sherlock wasn’t shagging John and John felt that Emily had never shagged Sherlock. They were both relieved and confused as they took each other in.

The tension broke when John laughed. He rubbed his forehead and Emily smirked.

“This is insanity. I love him you know and that’s just…insane,” John said. Emily thought he was talking mostly to himself but she answered anyway.

“I’ve loved him for nearly 15 years, I have you beat,” she smiled wryly as she signed.

“I wonder why he chose us,” John said, sipping his coffee.

“We’ll never know. He has that massive intellect and he never shares it with the world when it comes to the things that matter.  He’ll spout about science and bees until the sun burns out of the sky, but god forbid he tells us why he loves us. His mother says it’s because Mycroft doesn’t and he adores his brother, but I think it’s because he doesn’t know how,” her signs were smooth and he read them easily. She wasn’t angry with him any longer.

John leaned forward. “If you don’t mind, could you tell me about him? About his life. He doesn’t talk about it much and I’m interested.”

Emily leaned back in her seat and asked fluidly, “He hasn’t kissed you yet, has he?”

John frowned and shook his head. “No. Why?”

She smiled. Maybe John wasn’t so different from her. “No reason. Sure, I’ll tell you everything I know but don’t blab, he hates when I tell stories from uni.”

 

*       *      *

 

            It was a week after that. A week after that day in the coffee shop that Sherlock jumped from Bart’s rooftop and everything changed again. John was standing in the street reaching for Sherlock. Sherlock was reaching back and all the while, Emily was at work. She didn’t hear John scream for him, didn’t see the blood on the sidewalk. She didn’t even know until John phoned her the next morning to tell her, his voice dull and dead. Sherlock was dead and Emily hadn’t even known. She cried for hours alone in her flat wondering if her life was worth living.

 

            “I’ll kill everyone,” Moriarty had said but he didn’t know about Emily. Sherlock was glad for that. He was glad for it when he showed up at Emily’s door bloody and bruised from the fake fall. He was glad for it because it was one less person to feel guilty about. He was glad he still had her to lean on no matter how unfair that was.

            When she opened the door and stared he didn’t get to speak before she smacked him, her open palm leaving a red mark on his cheek.

            “You arrogant git! What the fuck is wrong with you?” she signed furiously. He shrugged.

            “John saw you fall! He called me! He’s heartbroken!” Emily kept on signing as she hauled him into the flat.

            “They threatened him. Him and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. It’s a good thing I haven’t seen you much in the past months. They would’ve threatened you too. Without you and Molly I would be dead,” he admitted.

            She shoved him onto the couch. “Talk,” she signed with obvious agitation.

            He peered up at her. “Alright, but I need your help.”

            Her gaze didn’t soften but she sat. There had never been a time when she hadn’t done what Sherlock needed. That wasn’t about to change now. As he spoke, she readied herself for a war.

 


	3. 3 Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily helps Sherlock to finish the battle and get his life back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all mistakes are my own.

 

            Time had once again seemed to fly by, at least by Emily’s point of view. Sherlock took her across the world to hunt down the crime web Moriarty had left behind. They travelled to places she’d only dreamed of but it wasn’t a vacation. Mycroft reminded her of that each time he texted to ask how Sherlock was. He was ruthless and efficient in a way she hadn’t seen in him before and though she worried, she felt the time moved quickly. She was perversely happy to have Sherlock back. He seemed to be the man she remembered. Smart and sharp and quick. Filled with disdain for normal life and willing to do anything to kill the boredom. It wasn’t until she came back to their latest hotel room early that she realized exactly what he had given up.

            She walked into the room with a smile on her face only to see Sherlock staring at the floor. He wasn’t a young man anymore. The three years of hunting and killing had gotten to him. While he stared at the wooden floorboards she saw the despair. She knew he’d done all these things for his friends. For the ones he loved even if he never told them. He looked tired and just sad. She closed the door behind her and watched as his face composed itself into the mask he used to keep out the world. He smiled at her.

            “You don’t need to pretend with me, you know,” she signed slowly.

            She’d thought she had him back but his face had proven otherwise. Even if he still lay beside her at night, his heart wasn’t there. He was far away in a flat with an ex-army doctor.

            “Pretend what?” he asked.

            “That you don’t miss them.”

            She sat next to him and turned his cheek so he was looking at her. He had scars along his face and long slash still healing on his neck. He looked down with a scowl. She pulled his face up by his chin.

            “Don’t do that. We’re almost finished. You can go home. You can go back to him,” she signed the last sentence hesitantly. She didn’t know if even John knew how deeply Sherlock felt.

            Sherlock jerked and she knew she was right. He had never spoken the words and he now felt it was too late. He stared at her stubbornly. “You idiot! You never told him, did you?” she signed furiously.

            “Why did I need to?” he snapped back.

            “Because not everyone is like you and not everyone has known you for most of your life. You can’t just expect everyone to know what you feel and want, Sherlock.” If she had a voice she would sound exasperated. As it was, Sherlock could see her annoyance in her quick movements and the way her lips were a straight line.

            “He knew,” Sherlock protested.

            “No, sweetheart, he didn’t,” she signed gently. Sherlock’s eyes widened.

            “We had coffee a little while before you did your death defying act. He didn’t know what you were. He loved you but he didn’t know you loved him. You should have told him,” she sighed as she signed the words.

            “He’s an idiot,” Sherlock said but there was misery in the words instead of heat. She pulled his head to her shoulder. No words could make it any better and Emily knew better than most what it was to feel lovesick.

            They stayed like that for a while, both in their own heads. Sherlock thought about John and how the man had been loyal to a fault. He had dismissed the idea of telling John he was alive in case it would get him killed. After three years, all Sherlock wanted was to go home to John and tell him the things he hadn’t said. For once, he felt like the idiot for not knowing. Emily had a way of reminding him how to be human but in this case it might just have been too late. He leaned against her and began to plan his way out of the mess he’d placed himself in, hoping with shaky fear that John would forgive him.

            Emily thought of Sherlock before John. He’d been happy she thought. He’d loved her; he just wasn’t in love with her. She was too normal, she’d always thought. She was clever and funny but she wasn’t a genius and for that she assumed he would never hand over his heart. Then they met John and suddenly, Sherlock was doing things he shouldn’t be doing. He was taking things from Buckingham Palace and making jokes just for John. He had even apologized to John and said please on different occasions. John was just as normal as she was and he’d managed to turn all of their worlds upside down.  Emily had held out hope for Sherlock because he hadn’t loved anyone in the way that she loved him but now she saw it in him. He hadn’t kissed John, hadn’t told him the truth but that didn’t make it any less powerful. Sherlock Holmes, the great and brilliant detective who believed sentiment was an affliction was in love with John Watson. John Watson the army doctor who on several occasions had told Emily he wasn’t gay. Her lips turned up into a humorless smile. You didn’t need to be gay to love Sherlock, he just sucked you in.

            Turning his head, she signed, “Remember when we first met? You learned to sign for me and I thought you were the most wonderful creature in the world.”

            He smiled. “You were interesting. You didn’t cry when they made fun of you and you never told me to shut up.”

            “I told you to shut up plenty of times,” she signed with a laugh. He smiled and for the first time in nearly 3 years it was genuine.

            “Not until after you got to know me. At first you thought I was special.”

            She smiled. After a moment he said, “I love you. You do know that.”

            She nodded. “Yes, I know. You just don’t love me like I need.”

            “Like you deserve,” he signed slowly.

            She curled into his side like she used to when it was just them. “You’ve always loved me like I deserve. Don’t ever think you weren’t enough. I just need to find what I always hoped for with you. Now that I know for sure. You aren’t mine to have.”

            He turned his head and kissed her. As she always had, she felt the spark in her chest but she smiled against his mouth. He wasn’t pushing, he was testing. “Relax,” she signed when he pulled back, “I’m not leaving you or anything. We’ll finish this. We’ll go home and I’ll help to explain to everyone, especially John. I’m not going to disappear; I’m just going to find what I’ve always wanted.”

            He leaned against her and nodded with exhaustion. “You deserve everything you’ve always wanted. I’m sorry I can’t give it to you.”

            “Oh that’s alright. I think in the really long run you would drive me nuts. I’m going to wish John good luck with you.” It was a lie and they both knew it, but it was comforting to pretend if even just for that second.

            They stayed silent for a while, both deep in their own thoughts until Emily laughed suddenly. “I talked to Mycroft yesterday. He said to wish you a happy birthday,” she signed.

            Sherlock frowned and launched into a tirade about his brother and birthdays, making Emily smile with the ease at which she could change the subject from her slightly broken heart.

 

            Two days later, Emily texted John. At first he didn’t respond but when he did it was with barely veiled anger.

            _So now you want to talk to me. It’s been three years. Why now? JW_

She closed her eyes and thought about what she was about to do. She’d made a promise to Sherlock but this was going to be for him. She tightened her fingers on her phone before typing quickly.

            _Because he loved you more than anyone else. Because…._

            She couldn’t type it out. She didn’t know what he would say or what he would do. She hit send. Only a breath later she got a reply.

            _Because why? JW_

_Because he’s still alive and terrified to come home. He thinks you’re going to hate him._

She hit send before she could chicken out. In the bathroom, Sherlock hummed Mozart while he showered. It seemed like hours before John replied.

            _This is a cruel joke for you. I never thought you were malicious. JW_

_I’m not. It’s not a joke. It’s not a lie. He’s in the shower right now. I can’t explain it all now, but I just needed you to know. He chose you. He’ll always choose you._

There was no reply and Sherlock came out of the bathroom with a towel tied around his waist.

            “It’s time to finish this,” he said almost jovially.

            “It would be decent if you weren’t so happy,” she signed, tucking her phone into her jacket pocket.

            He shrugged. “It’s just a game,” he said.

            “Good luck,” she signed, plopping onto the bed and turning on the TV. His last hit was Sebastian Moran and she was trying not to worry too much. As he swept out of the room she felt the worry gnaw at her stomach as her phone went off.

            _Why didn’t he tell me? JW_

Emily closed her eyes and breathed deeply. It was time to tell John the truth.

 

*           *         *

John had not fared well in the three years since Sherlock had died. He’d heard many humpty dumpty jokes that made him want to punch the joker (a few times he did and Lestrade had to get him off) and he’d found himself suddenly as alone as he’d been when he’d come back from the war. He had become a sour man who recklessly threw himself into dangerous situations if only to hear the echo of Sherlock’s voice. When Emily texted him he thought she was playing a cruel joke. After he’d called her and spoke to her labored breathing  to tell her Sherlock was dead, he hadn’t heard from her. In three years he hadn’t seen hide or hair of Emily Dunn and had often mused that she’d killed herself in her grief. John had almost ended his own life a couple times before he realized Sherlock would have been very upset with him if he had.

Of course he’d found out the reason Sherlock had done what he did. He knew it was a way to protect him and the others Sherlock loved but it didn’t make him any less angry. He’d never told Sherlock he loved him and he’d never heard the words pass Sherlock’s lips so he could only kick himself and assume the detective hadn’t felt that way. He continued on in his life until Emily told him the truth and from there the single minded need to find Sherlock and possibly punch him in the face consumed John.

It took him under a week. Once he knew he was looking it was nearly impossible not to find them. Emily had booked rooms with her credit card and name and anyone he asked in those areas could remember Sherlock. It seemed over the three years they had stretched across the globe but were finally back in the country. Finally, he found them. They were in a small motel in what John suspected was literally the middle of nowhere. He stood in front of the door wondering why he’d come when the door swung open and Emily nearly ran into him.

Her mouth opened then closed and she lifted her hands only to let them drop to her sides. John widened his eyes expectantly. When it became apparent that she wasn’t going to sign to him he said,

“You’re remarkably easy to find. I thought he’d make you be more stealthy.”

She shrugged.

“Are you not going to talk to me at all?’

She turned her head quickly then shoved him back. Putting a finger to her lips she pulled him way from the room. When they were around the corner of the building she visibly shook herself and brought up her hands to sign to him.

“I didn’t think you’d come to find us!” her hands moved in jerky movements.

“Well you’re an idiot then,” he snapped. Three years and she didn’t think he’d hunt them down? She had to be mental if she thought that was true.

“You can’t see him. He’ll be angry with me for telling you. You aren’t supposed to know. It isn’t safe for you.”

“He’ll be angry with you? That’s why you don’t want him to know I’m here? I’m angry with you and him. How could you not tell any of us about this?” he was nearly shouting at her and she winced.

“He asked me not to. Mycroft told me not to. It wasn’t safe. It still isn’t safe for you. It’s almost over but he’s scared to tell you until it’s over. The last try….the last hit…it didn’t go well. We’re still trying.”

John waited in furious silence as she wrung her hands. He wanted to hear the truth and he would wait for it. She stared back before realizing he was waiting.

 “Actually,” she signed, “I think he’s scared to tell you at all.”

“I can understand that,” John said sourly.

“You don’t understand…” her signs trailed off and she ran her fingers through her hair. John noticed she’d cut it. It was now shoulder length and it kinked in natural waves. His fury nearly blinded him as he thought of all the mundane things they had done together. Haircuts and breakfast and watching telly.

“He went to you. He chose you,” John said when it was clear she was done saying her part.

She shook her head sharply. “No, no, no. That’s the opposite of it,” she signed.

Her movements were sharp and jerky giving off a desperate voice. John had always heard a deep and sweet voice when he followed her signs and now he could hear the imaginary voice tremble as she spoke.

He opened his mouth when he heard Sherlock call, “Em? Where are you?”

He froze. He hadn’t heard Sherlock’s voice in so long it was like a dream. Thick and rich, it ran down his spine. Any ideas that this was simply a fantasy melted away and he turned to the voice. Emily’s eyes widened and she tried to push him back into the shadow of the building while backing away. He was having none of it.

When Sherlock turned around the corner he saw Emily pushing at John, her back to him and John staring at her with a frown. Sherlock stopped.

“You told him.”

It wasn’t a question so Emily didn’t turn.

“I told you not to tell him.”

“Him is standing right here, thank you very much,” John said, finding his voice.

Sherlock ignored him and spun Emily to face him. She stumbled but he held her still. “Is this because I chose him? Did you do this to ruin my chances of coming back to my life? I told you. I told you I loved him and that I’d hurt him and you do this?” he asked her.

She shook her head and John stopped trying to be heard and began to listen.

“I love you, Emily. I always have but you know it isn’t in the way you want. You said you were going to find what you need and deserve. I’ve never deserved you. Why did you do this?”

Sherlock sounded heartbroken and Emily let out a low growl that John took to be a cold laugh.

“I love you too you idiot. This wasn’t about hurting you, this was about fixing you. I’ve seen your face when you don’t think I’m looking. You try so hard to pretend I’m what you need now. You’ve been pretending for too long. I told him because he deserved to know and you deserve to be with the person you really love. You never loved me like you love him and that’s okay. It really is. I want to give you the chance to get your life back and you seemed to scared to just go for it,” she signed to him.

Sherlock shook his head so fiercely John could hear his hair hitting his face. Emily brought her hands up but John touched her shoulder.

“Let me do this,” he said, “he won’t blame you when it comes from me.”

She took him in for a moment and then nodded. Gesturing to Sherlock, she took a step back.

“Sherlock,” John started and Sherlock flinched. John reached out and Sherlock pulled away with fear in his eyes.  In their time together they’d never named what they were and John had always thought his feelings were stronger than Sherlock’s. It had been such a short time and shouldn’t even matter anymore but it does. Sherlock had given him words of affection in that car ride from Baskerville but it had seemed somewhat non-committal. Watching Sherlock stare at him like a trapped animal he was forced to reassess everything he’d thought about their relationship. He pushed past Emily without a thought and stood directly in front of Sherlock.

“Listen you git. I adore you. I love you. I’m angry as hell with you and I probably will be for a while but that doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere. I’m livid with Emily as well, don’t worry about that, but she didn’t do this to hurt you. She did this because she loves you. How is it you’re so bloody brilliant but you can’t see what’s right under your nose?”

John lifted his hand and ran his fingers along Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock closed his eyes as John traced the scars that now littered his face. A tear slipped from beneath his nearly translucent eyelid and Emily bit her lip so hard it bled. She’d always thought it would be her. That one day, Sherlock would open up to her and suddenly see what was waiting for him. It was hard for her to see this now. To see Sherlock cry for someone else and to see someone else touch him so intimately made her want to run away but she forced herself to stay. Sherlock was her greatest friend. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him. She waited and watched as John Watson took his hand slowly and smiled.

Sherlock didn’t smile but he did release the tension in his back. “Git,” John said with a laugh.

“Emily, I’m sorry,” Sherlock said, his eyes shooting up and then back down to John’s face.

Emily nodded and cleared her throat. Sherlock and John turned to her. “I just want you to be happy. Both of you. You’re both idiots for dancing around this.” Her hands, so small and thin, moved with a graceful ark so her words seemed almost melodic.

Sherlock huffed but John inclined his head.

“Sherlock, can I talk to Emily for a moment?” John asked, squeezing Sherlock’s hand.

Sherlock looked them both over, cataloguing every detail before nodding curtly and saying, “I’ll be just around the corner. We have to go soon. Our window is closing.”

“Window?” John asked but Sherlock was already gone.

“The window to finish this. To kill Moran,” Emily signed.

John nodded, accepting this fact with unsettling ease and turned to the subject at hand. “Thank you,” he said.

She tipped her head.

“Thank you for telling me he’s alive. Thank you for giving this up. I know it couldn’t have been easy. You’ve had loads more time with him than me and I know you nearly worship him. You have a good relationship with his brother for god’s sakes…and I’m new to this world that he lives in.  I’m so angry I can hardly see straight, but he’s here and that’s enough for now. We’ll work past this. Just, thank you for being the bigger person because if it was me, I’m not sure I would have done it.”

He had his hands in his pockets and he rocked on his heels while she smiled at him, shaking her head.

“If he looked at me the way he looks at you, you would have done it. You aren’t a selfish being, John. He isn’t either though he likes to think he is. I didn’t do anything but what I had to do. I couldn’t keep him. He wasn’t mine. Maybe he was for 15 years, but now he isn’t. When it counts, he’s yours. No matter what. And don’t be too angry with him. He did this for you. He might never admit it again, but he did,” her fingers were loose and flowing and there was a sadness to her face but John could tell she’d come to terms with it.

“You’ll always be his best friend,” John offered.

She laughed her growling laugh and he smiled in return. “I know that. I’ve invested nearly 17 years in him, I’m not about to give up now.”

She hooked her arm through his and pulled him from the corner, turning to him and signing with her right hand she asked, “know any available men? If they’re like you I’m sure I’ll be quite lucky to have them.”

Sherlock was waiting for them and even in his impatience, he smiled. John quickened his pace and Emily let him go. It was time to let Sherlock go as well. She watched him light up as John reached him and as John took his hand and seemed to flush, she knew she’d done the right thing. Her best friend had found his soul mate. It was her turn to find hers.

 

*            *           *

 

They captured Moran and had him put away for life. With Mycroft holding the key to the cell it was ensured that the assassin would never be free. Sherlock moved back into 221B. John moved out of the upstairs room and into Sherlock’s room. Emily spent her time in her own flat and found she actually liked waking up without the smell of formaldehyde coming from the kitchen. Sherlock properly introduced her to Gregory Lestrade three weeks before Christmas. He left his wife two weeks after the holiday and three weeks after that, Emily had the first man that wasn’t Sherlock Holmes in her bed. They didn’t sleep. She suspected John and Sherlock didn’t sleep much as well.

It seemed ages had passed when they all gathered at the Holmes estate for a celebration of John and Sherlock’s newly announced engagement. Life had carried them all forward but the ties were strong. Violet Holmes answered the door to her son, his partner, his best friend and his Inspector.

“Hello Violet!” Emily signed with a warm smile.

“Emily my dear, do come in! It’s been ages since I’ve seen any of you. Selfish child, keeping you all from me for the wonderful holidays!” Violet chided Sherlock with a smile.

“Hello, mother,” he said, kissing her cheek.

John had only met Violet one other time but he smiled and kissed her cheek as well, accepting her happy invitation into the house. Lestrade introduced himself and was surprised by the warmth with which he was received.

“I quite thought Sherlock and Emily would end up getting married, but I’m so happy for all of you,” Violet beamed as she led them to the study, “Mycroft has such wonderful things to say about you both.”

Lestrade and John exchanged uneasy glances and Sherlock coughed. His brother was waiting by the fire.

“Has Mummy been telling lies again?” he asked and Sherlock barked out a laugh while Violet clucked at her sons.

“Possibly, though I happen to agree with her assessment,” he said, smiling down at John. John flushed.

Anyone who knew them knew they were both almost disgustingly happy. They smiled at each other for a beat and Sherlock seemed to inhale deeply before turning back to his family. Emily took Lestrade’s hand and squeezed. He squeezed back. He was slowly learning to sign so he could keep up with her. He adored her and she knew it. Sherlock had already threatened to kill him and hide his body if he ever hurt her to which Emily had let off a flurry of signs that Sherlock laughed at.  Lestrade had taken it all in stride as well as he had taken everything Sherlock did in stride. Emily found him to be a good fit in her makeshift family.

As they sat down to dinner they toasted John and Sherlock and she studied her best friend. A long time ago, he saved her from bullies and a life of pain. A long time ago, they were children who had only each other. Looking at him across the table he was no longer young and no longer a child but he lit from the inside with a joy that people seldom find. She smiled and he looked up at her, drawn to her as he always had been.

“I love you,” she signed.

He beamed at her. Peeked at John who was laughing with Violet (“and he was only 5, can you imagine? Bee stings up and down his arms and so proud!”) and then looked back to her. His smile was slow and genuine.

“I love you too,” he signed back.

There had been a time when Emily would have done anything for Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps that time never ended. But as he turned back to the man he adored, she knew their time wasn’t over it was simply changing. Maybe she hadn’t found true love, maybe she was in the midst of discovering it. Whatever her path was, it was her turn to find her own way. Watching Sherlock, she realized for the first time not only had he saved her, she’d saved him. In the quiet they had learned to love and in each other, they had grown.

 

 


End file.
